gardening

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It started with trimming a few dead lavender shoots with kitchen scissors in my pajamas.

Then I took to the rose bushes.

The branches fell to the ground, the thorns tugging at my bare feet. It was renewing somehow, to purge this shrub of its dead parts.

In a few minutes I had changed into more garden-ready clothing and pulled my hair back. Soon I was raking leaves and pulling them into bags. I combed my fingers through the weeds, capturing  the stragglers. The sprinkler karate chopped at the grass. I unhooked it and sprayed away spider webs that had creeped across the fence and the porch steps.

As they trailed down the wood, I felt better. Refreshed. Clean.

I wish that cleaning out my heart was so easy. I wish it was a matter of taking a hose and power spraying the stains off. For some reason, God has chosen to do it with a chisel instead. It’s a longer, more painful process. But he is a much better artist than me.

There are vibrant pink roses the size of my palm blooming in my back yard. It amazes me how they keep coming back. The grass is so long it’s laying sideways over the empty patches. My yard is not perfect, but it still functions as a haven when needed.

Or a place to purge any pent up frustrations and confusions in a very tangible way.

Anyway, it’s a lot cleaner now.

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